Theater of War: Act Three, Scene Two
by TOW
Summary: The conclusion of Act Three - "I Have Played the Fool".
1. Chapter 1

Act Three

Scene Two

Introduction

Theater of War: Act Three – "I Have Played the Fool" – The First Book of Samuel – is set in the _Hogan's Heroes_' universe. It was originally published as a digest-sized zine in 1998. This is an amateur publication for the enjoyment of fans. This copyright covers only original material and in no way intends to infringe upon the privileges of the holders of copyrights, trademarks or other legal rights for the _Hogan's Heroes_ universe.

The conclusion of Act Three.

* * *

– One –

It was a cold, bleak day. Everyone was dragging — the guards, the prisoners, everyone. The reason, as usual, was the war news. To the prisoners, it meant the end was still not here. To the Germans, it was as if Germany was slowly hemorrhaging to death and nothing was being done to stop it. It was only a matter of time. But the waiting was hard on everyone. Only Klink seemed immune.

Captain Fritz Gruber. Hogan saw him crossing the compound to the front gate. He seemed to have accepted the terms of his uneasy truce with the Kommandant. He acted no differently than he had before the day he held that gun on Klink. According to Schultz, Gruber made no attempt to talk to any of the Germans in the camp, and he rarely left his quarters when he was off duty.

Hogan turned the corner of the barracks and halted. A car was coming through the gate. Only one man was in it. The car drove to Klink's office and stopped. The man got out.

Schutzstaffel — SS

Hogan's eye caught those of his men. They hurried back into the barracks. Hurriedly, they set up the listening device.

"SS," muttered Newkirk. "What does he want?"

Kommandant Wilhelm Klink was wondering the same thing as he greeted Sturmbannführer(1) Sigfrid Reiner.

"Just a courtesy call, Kommandant," Reiner was saying as Klink sat behind his desk. "My family home is south of here. I am on my way there before returning to the front."

"Is that safe, Herr Sturmbannführer?" Klink asked. "We have been hearing rumors about resistance raids on SS personnel."

A thin smile. "They will find that I am not that easy to kill or capture." The major walked over to the rear window. "An interesting camp, Kommandant. You are to be commended. I understand that you have never had a successful escape."

A pleased smile. "Yes, that is true."

"I have never been to a Luftwaffe camp before, Kommandant. However, I have been to some of the other prison camps. This seems to be a little different. What is that?"

"What is what?" Klink rose and went to stand beside Reiner at the window.

"What is that?" Reiner pointed.

"Oh. That is the prisoners' recreation hall."

"Recreation hall?" Reiner sounded amused. "How quaint. Perhaps that is why you have never had an escape, Colonel."

A smile. "We try to make things as comfortable as possible. It encourages them to stay here."

"Apparently, it works," Reiner said. "Though many think it a waste of time to coddle prisoners. Wolfgang did."

"Wolfgang?"

"Wolfgang Hochstetter. Gestapo Major Hochstetter," Reiner said. "I understand you knew him."

"Yes. We had met numerous times in the past." Klink sounded appropriately sad. "Such a tragic loss to the Third Reich."

"Very. Apparently, he was close to discovering the identity of a notorious resistance leader," Reiner continued. "One who had evaded capture for over ten years. One wonders if he had discovered the identity of the man before his death. Possibly that discovery caused his death.

"And," Reiner pointed out the window, changing the subject, "what is?"

"The delousing station," Klink said in an almost bored voice.

"As I was saying," Reiner continued. "Poor Wolfgang. I hope he died happy knowing the identity of the man who had bested him for so many years.

"He spoke of you often, Colonel. You and the other man. I wonder if he ever guessed the truth before everything fell apart for him. I doubt it. He hated too strongly to think clearly."

"Major, this is all very interesting. But I . . . " Klink broke off, stunned.

"Very good, Colonel," Reiner said in a voice almost too low for Hogan to hear. "Your control is really excellent. You make no sudden moves, no instinctive reactions that might cause severe damage."

"What's he talking about?" Carter, listening in the Hogan's roon, asked in a puzzled voice.

"What do you want?" Klink's voice changed to that quiet tone that Hogan and his men had come to know.

"You, Colonel Klink." Reiner's voice was chillingly soft. "Or perhaps I should say Stage?"

"Mon Dieu!" LeBeau cried. "He knows!"

"Who?" Klink asked politely.

Reiner laughed. "Of course. I really do not expect you to admit anything, Colonel. That would be too easy.

"Now, Colonel, I do not know if you have any safety measures to protect you here. But I would suggest no rash actions while that knife is embedded in your side."

Hogan, who had been ready to rush to Klink's office, stopped, frozen with shock.

"The blade is razor sharp," Reiner continued. "And very thin as you can feel. I chose a spot that will cause you no permanent harm. There are no vital organs in the way, no arteries. There are, of course, nerves. But the way the knife is inserted now, it is merely annoying. Unless, of course, I press so."

Klink's eyes closed as pain shot through him.

"Excellent, Colonel, excellent," Reiner said. "I have sent men to their knees with that move. You will be a worthy opponent."

Klink's eyes opened and he looked at Reiner. "What do you want, Reiner?"

"As I said before, Colonel, you. Do you hunt, Colonel?" Reiner asked.

Klink stayed silent, his eyes on Reiner's face.

"It is an exhilarating sport. I have hunted all kinds of game. The more dangerous the game, the more thrilling the hunt. But of all the animals in the world, the most enjoyable, the most challenging to hunt is man."

"You are mad." Klink's calm voice echoed the thoughts of the listening men as he turned back to the window.

Reiner's expression turned ugly. The knife pressed.

Klink gasped as the pain tore through him, his fingers turning white as they grasped the windowsill tightly to keep from falling.

"It is not wise to anger me, Colonel. Not wise at all." Reiner's voice lost some of its smoothness. "I can cause you a great deal of unpleasant pain right now. And I really do not want to damage you unnecessarily."

Hogan's insides twisted as he heard Klink's gasp and Reiner's threat. Klink was at the mercy of that madman and there was nothing they could do.

"Colonel, we've got to do something!" Baker said.

"Right now, we're helpless," Hogan said in disgust. "Until we find out what he's up to."

Reiner watched as the pain slowly ebbed from Klink's face.

"As I said, Colonel, the most exciting game of all is man. And I have chosen you to be my final prize. A fitting end for a man who has outwitted all of Germany's security forces for the past ten years."

"It is?" Klink's voice was soft with irony.

"But of course," Reiner said happily. "Oh, it will be fair; you will be allowed to fight back. You might even get lucky and kill me. That is always the risk the hunter takes. It will be just the two of us, matching wits. It will be glorious."

"He's a bloody lunatic," muttered Newkirk.

"And what if I choose not to play your game, Reiner? Will you kill me now?" Klink asked softly. "Or forcibly remove me from the camp?"

"What?" Reiner was outraged. "Where is the sport in that, Colonel? No, I will not kill you now. Nor kidnap you. I want you to come to me of your own free will. Once our discussion is concluded, I will walk out of this camp and return home." Reiner took an envelope from his coat pocket and tossed it on Klink's desk. "That contains the directions on how to find my estate. I will expect you there tomorrow morning at dawn."

"And why should I play your little game, Reiner?" Klink asked curiously.

"Because, my dear Colonel, you are already dying."

Klink turned to look at him, cold sweat breaking out on his palms.

"You see, Colonel," Reiner explained in a matter-of-fact voice as an ashen Hogan and his men listened. "The blade was dipped in a little known poison. In my travels through Africa, I encountered a number of exotic poisons. This one is particularly interesting. It is odorless, colorless, tasteless. It enters the victim's body by a cut or a scratch. It allows him to function normally for a number of days before the pain strikes. Then the victim's last remaining hours are spent in unending agony. There is an antidote that works as long as the victim has not slipped into an irreversible coma. And the only way for you to get that antidote, Colonel, is to play my game."

Klink still watched him unflinchingly.

"Perhaps you are thinking of escaping to Switzerland or London. That is your choice. I will not stop you. But I assure you, you will have died in excruciating pain before the doctors can begin to find out what is wrong. The poison is virtually undetectable unless one knows exactly what to look for. The only hope you have of living is to come to the estate, kill me and get the antidote. So, Colonel, you only have two choices. Die very unpleasantly. Or participate in the hunt."

"And your choices," Klink said softly in a voice Hogan could not hear, "are limited only by your imagination."

Reiner smiled.

Klink's eyes turned to the scene outside the window.

"You have time to decide, Colonel," Reiner said. "I am patient. But do not wait too long. In forty-eight hours or so, the pain will begin. Your tolerance for pain is quite high but, in time, the pain will become unbearable and cloud your mind. And you will not have much more than another twelve hours after that before you lapse into the coma. Please, choose wisely, Colonel.

"And do not think you can attack me on the way to the estate. I do not have the antidote with me. And I promise you an attack on the estate or me will accomplish nothing other than your certain death. The only way for you to obtain the antidote is to participate in the hunt.

"Goodbye, Colonel Klink," Reiner concluded. "For your sake, I do hope we meet again. Oh, and one other minor detail." Reiner smiled. "To ensure time for me to get out of this camp easily, I am leaving you a little present. I do regret the discomfort this will cause, but as long as the blade is removed quickly, there will be no permanent damage. I would strongly advise you not to move, Colonel, until the blade is removed."

The listening men started as they heard Klink's strangled cry and then Reiner's voice.

"Still conscious, Colonel?" Reiner laughed. "Yes, this will be a most challenging hunt. Until tomorrow, Colonel."

They heard the door close.

Hogan, guessing what had happened, was already at the door. "Get the medical kit!" he ordered tightly. "That damn sadist just broke the blade off inside Klink's body!"

Hogan was out of the barracks at a run. "Schultz!" he yelled at the rotund Sergeant and motioned him toward Klink's office.

The alarmed Sergeant headed quickly toward the office. Reiner's car was nearly at the gate. Captain Gruber, who had glanced after Reiner and the car in puzzlement, was walking up the stairs to Klink's office. He had his hand on the door when he was swept aside by Hogan and Schultz. Indignant, he started to object. But by then, the door had opened.

Kommandant Klink was slumped against the wall under the window. Gruber stared at him in surprise.

Hogan had already reached Klink and knelt beside him.

Klink looked at Hogan numbly, pain in his eyes, drenched with sweat.

"All right," Hogan said gently. "Don't move. Let me do all the work." Carefully, Hogan unbuttoned Klink's jacket. "Schultz!"

The big Sergeant knelt beside his Kommandant. He wet his dry lips. "Yes, Colonel Hogan."

"Hold the jacket out of the way," Hogan said. "Carefully! Don't jar him."

Schultz did as he was told. The tiny gash in Klink's shirt, barely tinted with blood, was scarcely noticeable.

"I need scissors or a knife," Hogan said urgently.

Gruber, still not knowing what was going on, reacted to the order and walked over to Klink's desk. He took a pair of scissors from the desk drawer and handed it to Hogan. Gruber watched as Hogan, very carefully, cut away Klink's shirt. Gruber swallowed nervously. There was a bleeding wound in Klink's side; a small jagged bit of metal protruded from the wound. Where did it come from? And how did Hogan know about it? Gruber glanced at Hogan's men as they crowded the door. What was going on in this camp?

Hogan expelled a nervous breath. This was going to be tricky. To avoid hurting Klink and possibly causing a serious injury, he had to pull it straight out. "Ready?" he asked quietly.

"Do it," Klink said in a toneless voice. "Quickly!"

After slipping on one of Klink's gloves to protect his fingers from the sharp metal and the poison, Hogan gently but firmly grasped the end of the knife. He pulled it straight out with a smooth, even pressure. Then he held up the thin stiletto.

Gruber went white. Who had done that to the Kommandant? No one had come into the office except that SS major.

The SS major.

"You can breathe again," Hogan said in a soft voice.

Klink nodded and closed his eyes.

Carter came over with the medical kit. As Hogan, the knife in his hand, stood, Schultz expertly bandaged the small wound.

Hogan dropped the knife on the desk and walked over to the cabinet. He poured brandy into a glass and went back to Klink. He stooped down and handed Klink the brandy.

Klink downed the brandy in one gulp. "Help me up, please," he said in a quiet voice.

Schultz helped Klink rise and led him over to his desk.

Klink sat down wearily and wiped his wet face with the handkerchief Schultz gave him. Then he looked at Hogan. The American's face was grave, no hint of humor in his expression.

"You heard," Klink stated.

"Every word." Hogan suddenly felt overwhelmed. "I . . . I don't know what to say. Or do."

A humorless smile. "There is nothing to say. As for what to do . . . " Klink's voice trailed off.

There was a long silence in the room. Schultz and Gruber were puzzled but afraid of intruding.

Klink picked up the knife on the desk and stared at it, his face impassive. Finally, he spoke, "I would like you to leave. There are some things that I must do. Alone." His eyes lifted to Hogan. "Come to my quarters tonight at seven. All of you. We will talk then." He seemed to notice Gruber for the first time. "Hauptmann Gruber. Yes, it is fitting that you are here. Well, Hauptmann, your struggle with your conscience may end very soon."

Klink's eyes swung to Schultz. "And you, my friend, don't know what has happened. Colonel Hogan will explain."

His gaze fell on the knife again. Klink dropped it, revulsion flashing across his face. "I would appreciate it if you requested the cook to prepare something special for dinner, Sergeant."

"Kommandant," LeBeau said in a tightly emotional voice, "I would be honored if you allowed me to prepare dinner for you."

Slowly, Klink's eyes lifted to the small corporal's face. And he smiled. LeBeau felt like crying as Klink said, "I would deem it an honor, my small friend." The smile disappeared and his gaze dropped back to the knife. "Go! Quickly!" Klink whispered, his voice too rigidly controlled.

One by one, the despondent men left the room.

Hogan was the last. He stared at the man who had become his friend long before he was willing to admit it. There was so much he wanted to say. But not now. Klink had to come to terms with the horrible fate before him.

Hogan closed the door quietly as he left the office.

At seven o'clock, they entered the Kommandant's quarters. Klink, in a black sweater and pants, his monocle missing, waited for them in the living room. He was pouring cognac into glasses from an old bottle.

The waiting, silent men were solemn.

Schultz's eyes were red, his face tightly controlled. When Hogan told him what had happened, the normally good-natured Sergeant exploded with rage, using language none of them had thought he even knew. Then he broke down.

Gruber. Gruber didn't know what to think or say. The whole thing seemed insane to him. Hogan had told him only the bare facts about what had happened. The American gave no details on how he knew about the events in Klink's office. And Gruber asked for none. He believed the story only because he had to. But he wasn't sure if he wanted to know anything else.

"Sergeant Carter," Klink said in a quiet voice, "please pass the cognac around."

Carter took the tray with the glasses on it and walked around the room.

Klink went over to the desk and took a thick packet from the middle drawer. He walked over to the table and leaned the packet against a vase. "There are letters here for everyone," he said quietly. "My mother, brothers, Therese, Dieter and others. Also," his eyes met theirs, "letters for each of you.

"Hauptmann Gruber, there is also a letter for General Burkhalter. It will explain what has happened here in the camp for the past four years and absolves you of all complicity in my actions."

Gruber swallowed nervously as he nodded.

Klink went over to a chair; a small black bag was on it. He pulled a Luger out of the satchel, examined it and returned it to the bag.

"You are to give me until midnight of the third day," Klink said quietly. "If I am not back by then," his eyes found Hogan, "you are to leave.

"Hans." Schultz started. "You are then to make the same telephone call you made the last time." Their eyes met. "This time, my friend, you will obey orders and leave," Klink said softly.

Tears in his eyes, Schultz could only nod.

"The packet, I entrust to you. Please see that everyone receives the letters."

Again, a silent nod. This time, a tear slid down Schultz's cheek.

"Robert." It was the first time that Klink had called him by name in the presence of others. "This time, you, too, are to leave. I," his eyes met Hogan's, "I do not wish to make it an order. Please, honor it as the last request of a friend."

Hogan nodded, too choked to say anything.

Klink smiled. He picked up the last glass on the tray and held it high. "To the end of the war."

The others echoed his toast and drank.

Klink then moved around the room.

Hogan couldn't hear what Klink said. But with each man, he shared a comment and a toast. Each man was visibly shaken by the goodbye. With Schultz, Klink shared an embrace. And Gruber, to Hogan's surprise, saluted.

Finally, it was Hogan's turn.

Klink smiled. "To our symbiotic relationship, Robert."

Hogan found it difficult to return the smile.

Their glasses clinked.

Hogan drained his glass without tasting the cognac.

Klink slowly held up his hand as in the cave. Hogan, a painful tightness in his throat, grasped Klink's hand, his eyes clinging to Klink's.

"I am sorry it will not be to the end, Robert," Klink said softly.

Hogan swallowed, his grip tightening on Klink's hand. Then Hogan broke the grip and embraced the man before him.

As they broke apart, Hogan's voice was filled with desperation. "Wilhelm, if . . . " He swallowed hard and tried again. "If you survive, don't come back. Try to get word to us, but don't come back."

Klink smiled. "If I survive, I will consider it."

Then he stepped away from Hogan and drained his glass. He broke the stem with his fingers, letting the pieces drop to the rug. Then he walked over to the chair and picked up the bag. His eyes swept over them one last time. And he turned to go.

Schultz's voice broke the silence. "Achtung!"

The men in the room snapped to attention and saluted.

Klink was surprised, and pleased. He returned their salute and was gone.

Gruber broke the long despairing silence. "He . . . He doesn't expect to live." There was wonder and puzzlement in his voice.

Schultz walked as if in a daze closer to the door. Then he dropped into a chair and began sobbing loudly. LeBeau, his eyes grave, hesitantly walked over to Schultz and laid a hand on his quaking shoulder.

Hogan stared at the door, still unable to believe what had happened. Then finally, as if he were in a dream, he stirred. "Kinch," he said in a pale imitation of his normal voice. "Call our friend in Berlin. At least, we can protect his back. In case . . . "

"Yes, sir." Kinch walked over to the telephone and made the call.

With more than a little surprise, Gruber watched the American sergeant make a call to Berlin, to Abwehr, to a Major Hans Teppel.(2)

Hogan took the telephone from the sergeant. After a few, and to Gruber incomprehensible, sentences, Hogan began talking. "Major, we've got bad trouble here . . . No, we're fine for the moment. But we need a favor . . . Keep Burkhalter away from here for at least eighty-four hours. No calls, no telegrams and especially no visits. Do you think you can manage that? . . . Thanks . . . Yeah, we'll let you know what happened later. Goodbye."

Hogan replaced the receiver and stared at it. Then he picked up his glass.

"_To our symbiotic relationship, Robert . . . I am sorry it will not be to the end . . . " _

_To the end._

_You and . . ._

Hogan hurled the glass against the wall. It shattered loudly.

Blindly, Hogan ran out of the room. The door slammed loudly behind him.

* * *

1 The SS equivalent of major.

2 "Bad Day at Berlin"


	2. Chapter 2

Act Three

Scene Two

– Two –

The next few days were a living nightmare for all of them.

Gruber took over the camp, much to the puzzlement of the guards and the prisoners. His explanation was that the Kommandant had been called away unexpectedly and would not return for a few days. But he was plainly uncomfortable in his role as caretaker.

Schultz walked around in a daze, scarcely eating or sleeping. He stayed on duty simply to have something to do. However, he barely talked to anyone. He barely noticed anyone either. Guards, prisoners, everyone stayed away from him, unable to deal with him.

Hogan's men were worried. About Schultz. They liked the rotund sergeant and knew how much he cared for his Kommandant. And themselves — they were preparing to leave the camp under circumstances that weren't very comfortable. And ultimately about Hogan. They had never seen him like this; it frightened them. As for Klink . . . They didn't want to think about Klink. Didn't want to think about the hell he might be facing at the hands of Reiner.

Captain John Witton was worried as well. Hogan had not told him what had happened. All Witton knew was that Klink had gone without warning. And now, Hogan was planning to leave as well. Witton was the senior captain in the camp. He would be in charge of the prisoners after Hogan and his men left. In charge of a camp that would finally have its first official escape.

Witton understood the need for secrecy. But he also wished that Hogan would open up to him. Whatever was wrong was affecting Schultz, the normally genial sergeant was impossible to get near; Hogan's men, they had continually worried expressions on their faces; even Gruber, the normally self-possessed officer was openly uneasy. And as for Hogan . . .

Whatever was wrong, it was tearing Hogan apart. The whole camp could see it. He hardly ate or slept. Hogan avoided everyone, even his own men. His eyes always seemed haunted by some unspeakable horror. There were even times when Witton was certain he saw traces of tears in Hogan's eyes. And that shook Witton even more.

If Witton had to make a guess, he would say it had something to do with Klink. Because he knew what had happened at the fire, Witton had been granted an insight into the relationship of the two men that most of the camp was denied. But he also knew that most of the camp understood that something had happened between Hogan and Klink in that cave-in last year. And what had happened during the fire simply reinforced the feeling.

However, Witton was at a total loss as to what had happened now. No one who knew anything was talking. All Witton could hope for was that the situation would be resolved quickly.

His eyes sought out Hogan. Before Hogan collapsed.

...

_Hogan never knew what happened. One moment, Klink was running toward the barracks. Then he tripped and fell forward._

_Hogan caught him and held him close. "Kommandant," Hogan whispered._

_The blue eyes opened on his face. The pain in them shook Hogan. Bloodied fingers grasped Hogan's shirt, pulling his head down._

_Hogan bent over Klink._

"_Tell London," Klink gasped as Hogan listened in growing horror. "Tell London, the play is terminated," Klink said in a weakening voice._

"_What?" _

_Klink coughed, blood appeared at the side of his mouth. "The play is terminated." Amazingly a smile. "The Stage is dead. The fools finally suspected." _

"_No!" whispered Hogan._

_Klink's eyes were on Hogan's. "I . . . wish I had told you earlier. We . . . could have been . . . friends longer." _

_Hogan's voice broke. "We were anyway." He knew it was true._

_A smile. "Thank you." A spasm twisted his face. "I would have liked to . . . the end, Robert. I wou . . . " _

_His fingers slipped from Hogan's shirt as his eyes closed._

"_Kommandant? Wilhelm? . . . NO!" Hogan screamed. "Oh God, no." Hogan began sobbing. "No . . . " _

_His sobs filled the room._

"No!" he whispered. "NO!"

A start. And he woke, tears on his cheeks.

_Just a dream. That's all. Only a dream. Only . . ._

Then he remembered.

_Oh, God, NO!_

Turning over on his side, painful sobs shook his body.

The yell had awakened Sergeant James Kinchloe and some of the other men. Kinch was on his feet instantly. He started toward the door of the office and then stopped.

Newkirk bumped into him. "Ouch! Why'd you stop for? Go on in."

Kinch shook his head. "No."

"But he could be in — "

"He's dreaming, Newkirk," Kinch said softly. "Just like after Martinelli died. Remember?"

"He's sure taking it awfully hard," Carter said.

"How would you take it if your best friend was facing certain death and you couldn't do a thing about it?" Kinch said quietly.

"Best friend?" from LeBeau. Then a subdued, "Yeah, I guess he is."

"There must be something we could do," Baker said.

Kinch shook his head. "All we can do is be there for him. When the time is up and Klink hasn't returned, we leave. After it's all over, after we're out of here, that's when it's really gonna hit him. That's when he's going to need us the most." A glance at the door. "Back to bed; we're not doing anybody any good here."

Slowly, the men retreated to their bunks.

...

Wilhelm Klink sat in his car, gazing at the arched gatehouse before him. It was a few minutes until dawn. It had taken him several hours to drive down to the estate, a task complicated by the fact that he had to take secondary roads to avoid the convoys and troops heading for the Western Front. An hour away from the several hundred-acre estate, he had stopped and slept. Klink's sleep was fitful and hardly refreshing. But he needed all the rest he could get to even have a hope of surviving. And right now, the question of his survival was very much in doubt. He wasn't sure if it was his own mind playing tricks on him or if the poison was starting to have an effect on his body, but he knew he wasn't at his best. But then, he was forced to admit, he hadn't been at his best for a number of months now.

Why on Earth hadn't he gone on to London? Or at the very least, stayed away from the camp after his escape from Hochstetter? He had used up more than his fair share of luck over the past few years, more than his fair share with the rescue. Why hadn't he left it alone? Why?

He hadn't. The reasons didn't matter anymore. He had gone back to camp. And now, he had Reiner to deal with.

If he could.

Klink started the car and drove up to the gate. Silently, mysteriously, it opened for him. He drove through the gate. Just as silently, as mysteriously, it closed behind him.

Klink got out of the car. A small, rather odd-looking man limped out of the gatehouse and beckoned to him. Klink followed him inside. The stone interior was gloomy, an appropriate setting to Klink's mind.

He followed the limping man through an arch into a small room. A table had been set with gold cutlery and exquisite china. Wonderful smells from an adjoining kitchen filled the room. The small man pointed at the chair and turned away.

"Wait," Klink began.

The man shook his head and pointed again. He limped out of the room.

Klink sat down. The chair faced the multi-paned window overlooking the grounds. There was some snow on the ground, but most of the dense woods were bare. The tall trees were a mix of evergreens, old oaks and chestnuts. In the summer, it would be beautiful. Now, it appeared to be dead. An illusion? Or reality? Klink wasn't sure which.

The little man came back with a large tray. He placed it before Klink. Eggs, real eggs, done just the way he liked them. Sausages, plump pork sausages, such as he hadn't seen in months. Bread, freshly baked with real butter. And fruits. Oranges, peaches, grapes — fruits impossible to get anywhere in war torn Europe. And wine, a rare, expensive French wine.

The little man had poured the wine into a glittering crystal goblet and held it out for Klink's approval. It would have been amusing, except for the deadly air with which the man performed the act. Klink nodded his acceptance; the goblet was filled with the wine. Then, with a bow, the man left Klink to his meal.

His last meal? Ignoring that dismal thought, Klink began eating, bent on enjoying the food as much as he could.

After Klink finished eating, the little man appeared again and beckoned to him. Klink was led into a bathroom. A tub of hot water was waiting for him. The man pointed at Klink, motioning him to remove his clothes. All of them. For a moment, Klink thought about refusing. But then he shrugged. What was the point? Why aggravate his erstwhile host unnecessarily? Besides, the tub did look inviting.

So, Klink removed his clothes. Then, to his less than pleased surprise, Klink was subjected to a ruthlessly careful and intimate body search before being allowed to climb into the tub.

That he almost refused to go along with. But again, why make things harder for himself? He knew that Reiner would make certain the rules of his hunt were obeyed. So, Klink submitted to the search and then climbed into the wonderfully soothing bath.

The little man left, taking Klink's clothes with him. Subjecting them, Klink was certain, to another thorough search.

Tempting as it was to linger in the hot water, Klink resisted, and left the bath quickly. There was a toiletry kit on the counter; he shaved and put on his clothes which been returned a few minutes earlier.

The still wordless man returned and beckoned to Klink. This time, Klink was led to a paneled room. A room filled with every conceivable weapon he could possibly want. The man held up three fingers.

"Three?" Klink said. "I can take three weapons?"

The man nodded; he walked back to the door, watching Klink closely.

Klink walked around the room, peering closely at the weapons. He rejected the rifles as too large and bulky. His tastes had always run to smaller weapons. He finally chose a handheld gun known for its deadly accuracy and a shoulder holster. He picked up a dangerous-looking knife, an American knife known as the Bowie. That should be useful in the woods. He belted the knife around his waist.

One more weapon. Klink stopped before a display case holding a variety of small knives. That one. Well balanced, almost impossibly sharp, and small enough to conceal easily. Klink picked it up, along with its holder, a holder that was strapped to his right forearm. It would only take a flick of his wrist to throw the knife.

That left only the ammunition for the gun. Klink filled his pockets and a small leather bag that the man handed him. Then he was led back to the entry.

The little man picked up a folded piece of paper and handed it to him. Klink opened it; it was a map of the estate with the castle clearly marked. The castle was near the far end of the estate, not quite in the middle of it. The map had no distinguishing landmarks or topography. But from the surrounding countryside, Klink was certain that the estate had several streams and valleys running through it. And Klink was certain that Reiner had also placed traps around the estate. Getting to the castle would not be easy. Klink folded the map and placed it in his breast pocket. The little man held out a canteen; Klink took it.

"Anything else?" Klink asked.

The little man shook his head, and pointed to the door.

"I have a question," Klink said. "Is Reiner starting from the castle?"

The man hesitated for a moment and then shook his head.

"Another gatehouse?"

The man nodded.

"Danke."

Klink walked to the door and stepped out into the cold morning air.

The hunt had begun.


	3. Chapter 3

Act Three

Scene Two

– Three –

Eyes, German and Allied, watched the two men standing apart from the others near the back gate. Except for a very few, no one knew what was going on. And no one could remember either man acting this way before. Even the new men knew something was wrong. But what? What?

Schultz paced back and forth, as if walking a post. He counted his steps. _Eins . . . Zwei . . . Drei . . . Vier . . . Fünf . . . Sechs . . . Sieben . . . Acht . . . Neun . . . Zehn. _

Then he would turn and begin again. _Eins . . . Zwei . . ._

Over and over the same circuit, with strict military precision.

...

"_I have something to tell you, Corporal Hans Schultz." _

"_Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." _

_Now what did Klink want? It was bad enough that he wanted to go on this ridiculous drive to nowhere in the middle of the night._

"_I have compiled a rather extensive dossier on you, Corporal Schultz. Your military record is . . . Well, let's say you mind your own business." _

"_I do my duty, Herr Kommandant." _

"_Ja, you do. Do you love Germany, Corporal Schultz?" _

_A startled, honest answer. "Natürlich, Herr Kommandant." _

"_Do you love Hitler?" _

_A much less subdued, much less honest. "It is my duty — "_

"_That is not what I asked, Corporal." _

_Cold sweat rolled down his spine. "Natürlich, I love — "_

"_You are lying, Corporal. I can always tell when you lie. And you lie to me quite frequently, don't you?" _

"_Herr Kommandant — "_

"_The question is, Corporal, how proficiently can you lie? More important, how proficiently can you act?" _

_Schultz was now totally confused. "Herr Kommandant?" _

"_Your dossier is full of interesting information, Hans Schultz. You took over a small toy store from your grandfather when you were twenty and turned it into the most successful toy company in Germany(_1)_. That shows a great deal of intelligence and business acumen, Corporal." _

"_I was lucky, Herr Kommandant," Schultz said carefully._

"_Perhaps a little. But there was also skill and intelligence in your success. Skill and intelligence sadly missing in your military career." _

"_I am not a soldier, Herr Kommandant," Schultz said slowly._

"_No, you are not. But I have no need of a soldier. I have need of a man who is resourceful, intelligent, who can follow orders, but who can also think for himself. I need someone I can trust implicitly. Someone like you, Corporal Hans Schultz." _

"_Herr Kommandant — "_

"_Not 'Herr Kommandant', Schultz." A very soft voice. "Not tonight. Tonight, you are to call me 'Stage'." _

_Hans Schultz's stunned eyes turned to the man sitting in the back of the car._

"_And I need your help, Hans Schultz, to succeed at this camp." _

"_You . . . You are joking, Herr Kommandant," Schultz said weakly._

_A very soft, "I am?" _

_Schultz looked at Klink, seeing him, really seeing him, for the first time. The mask Wilhelm Klink showed the world was missing. The strength, the determination, and the intelligence, Schultz could now see. Awe lit Schultz's eyes._

"_Congratulations, Corporal Schultz. Only six others in Germany know who I am." _

"_But why?" Schultz whispered._

"_I told you. I need your help to succeed here. I need you to keep an eye on things for me. I need to know what the prisoners are up to, and the guards. I need to know everything, and I need you to see everything. More, I need you in case there is trouble. I need someone who can help me when I need help. And I need someone," a grimness invaded his voice, "who will make a very important telephone call when it all falls apart. I want you to be that someone, Hans Schultz." _

"_Herr Kommandant . . . Herr Stage," Schultz began slowly. "I am not a soldier, I cannot do what you, and others like you, do." _

"_I am not asking you to. All I am asking is for you to be my eyes and ears. I will not involve you in any of my missions or my organization. But I need you, Hans Schultz, very much." _

_Schultz was silent._

"_I know I am asking a great deal. I will not pretend that there will not be any danger to you. But I do promise you that your name will never escape my lips. Torture — " Schultz shuddered at his casual use of the word. "Torture is effective only so far. Even the Gestapo cannot read a man's mind to see what he is still concealing. Think about it, Corporal Schultz." _

"_And . . . And," Schultz said hesitantly, "if I do not agree . . . You have told me your secret . . . "_

_Klink nodded. "I can arrange for you and your family to go to Switzerland." _

"_You are asking a great deal." _

"_Yes, I know. However, I believe Germany is worth a great deal. Do you?" _

_A slow, "Ja." _

_There was silence in the car for a long time._

_Schultz remembered the pain he had felt as workers he had known for years were denied livelihoods because of their religion, the pain he had felt as his factory was confiscated to produce weapons of war, the pain he had felt as he walked past humiliated, beaten Jews and others who had dared to resist the Nazis. And the shame he had felt as he realized that he was not brave enough to fight the Nazis. Now, this man was offering him a way to fight them. Schultz knew he would take it. _

_He had to._

"_I . . . I . . . " There was fear in his voice. "I will help you, Wilhelm Klink." _

_A faint smile from the man behind him, and Klink held out his hand._

_Schultz clasped Klink's hand solemnly, restraining the shudder that went through him. _

_Dear God, suddenly he was so very frightened._

It had started with that conversation. Klink had kept his word; Schultz knew very little about the Stage's organization. Sometimes Schultz wished that he did know a little more, but Klink always refused to tell him.

Time went on. A new prisoner arrived in camp, a brash American, Colonel Robert Hogan. Schultz was drawn to the man. Hogan was intelligent, charming, with a way about him. He organized the camp well and the men trusted him.

And he despised the Kommandant of the camp.

The months went by, turning into years. Hogan and his men ran the camp very well, far better than either Schultz or Klink had expected. There were no escapes — officially. Schultz learned to keep his eyes and ears open, learned how far to go with the prisoners, learned how to treat his Kommandant to earn the trust of the prisoners. That was the part Schultz hated the most. That, and those hours when Klink returned, needing his help.

"_Schultz!" _

"_Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!" With an audible sigh, Schultz followed Klink into his quarters._

"_I think I wrenched my shoulder," Klink was saying. "I'd like you to look at it." _

_Schultz caught the amused look on Hogan's face as he closed the door. And the contempt beneath the smile._

_Schultz followed Klink into the bedroom and closed the door. He turned._

_And nearly cried out. The shirt beneath Klink's jacket was soaked with blood. By the time, Schultz reached him, Klink's shirt had been pulled off, a wound in his right shoulder._

"_I need your help, my friend," Klink whispered through clenched teeth as he sank down on the bed._

That had been the first. Schultz grew to hate the nights when Klink left. And he learned all too well how to treat the various wounds that Klink sometimes received. And he watched with sorrowful admiration as Klink emerged the next day, sometimes the same day, with no trace of his pain evident.

And Schultz watched with a pain of his own as day after day Klink had to endure the contempt and insults of a man who should have been his ally. How he wished that Klink had told Hogan! There were a number of times when Schultz almost said something. However, the fear that he might be jeopardizing the man he had grown to care for so very much kept him silent. And so, for years, Schultz watched and waited.

Then came that horrible day when Hogan and he had walked into Klink's quarters and found Klink, beaten, on the floor. Then even more horrible days when Hogan had wished Klink dead and later betrayed him to the Gestapo. Schultz, in his anger and hurt, had nearly told Hogan what he had really done. But he hadn't. Instead, he waited.

And watched. Watched as both Hogan and Klink retreated into their own personal hells. Watched as in that hot, cramped, filthy cave, Hogan finally admitted the truth about how he felt about Klink. Watched as, slowly, the two men grew closer even as the camp's population grew bigger. And Schultz had smiled as he watched their friendship grow.

Then came the horror of that day when Klink disappeared. Schultz had disobeyed orders along with Colonel Hogan to try to rescue Klink. Beyond all hope, they had succeeded. And Klink came back.

But now, he was gone again.

Tears stung Schultz's eyes. Klink was already dying when he left camp. Was he already dead? Or would that sadistic major have other plans for him? Schultz didn't know.

A tear slipped down his cheek. The horrible truth was he might never know what happened to Klink.

Oh God, he was so scared for his friend. So very scared.

...

"_I couldn't do what you've done," Hogan said quietly, his eyes on the chess pieces in front of him._

"_You've done a great deal of it." Klink moved a rook._

"_I don't mean the sabotage or the missions," Hogan said, his hand reaching for a bishop. "I mean the rest of it. Your kommandant character, the way you've cut yourself off from people you care about, the way you've let yourself become a man held in ridicule and contempt by most of the people who know you. I couldn't do that." _

"_I have always been a solitary man, Robert, with few friends, fewer people that I've loved," Klink said quietly. "I trusted them to love me still, despite everything. There have even been some," a smile at Hogan, "who managed to care despite the fool they saw every day. As for the rest, well, I always thought I'd make an excellent hermit." _

_Hogan laughed. "Did you ever think you'd make an excellent actor?" _

"_No. But it is amazing how well fear can motivate you."_

"_You're amazing, you know that?" _

_A smile. "Yes, I do." _

_Hogan laughed again. "And modest." _

"_Modest?" Mock outrage in Klink's voice. "I don't have a modest bone in my body. I never have." _

And so, it had gone on.

Hogan's eyes were on the hills outside the camp. Somewhere out there — he had no idea where — but somewhere, Klink was fighting for his life. And there wasn't a thing Hogan could do to help him.

_To the . . ._

Hogan shook his head.

_Don't think. Don't . . ._

_..._

_Klink screamed._

_Hogan, shaken, held on to his hand tightly._

"_Why are you doing this?" Klink demanded._

_A joke. "I have nothing better to do." _

"_No! Not good enough. I mean nothing . . . "_

_Nothing. It didn't matter if Klink was hurt or if he died. It didn't matter . . ._

"_You and me, Kommandant . . . All the way to the end. Do you hear me? You and me . . . "_

_..._

"_I'm sorry," Hogan whispered._

"_Do it quickly, Colonel Hogan." _

_The tight muscles tensed even further under his fingers. The forceps touched the raw wound. Blood stained his fingers. Odd. He didn't notice it before._

_..._

"_You haven't begun to suffer yet, Klink . . . Your screams will end only when I tire of them . . . And it will be a very long time before I tire of them . . . "_

_The scream cut off the last word._

_Hogan watched as the man he had grown to care about struggled to fight the scream welling up in his throat, watched as tears slid down Klink's face, watched as a stain slowly wet Klink's already soiled pants, watched as sweat poured down his racked, exhausted body. The fingers, those long dirty fingers that had clutched Hogan's shirt, had curled into a ball, biting into his palms. The head arched back, the mouth opened . . ._

_The screams echoed in the stone room._

_..._

Hogan shook his head to clear it.

Again.

The hills echoed the screams in his mind.

Another shake of his head.

...

_The fingers bit into his hand._

"_Why are you doing this?" the hoarse whisper demanded._

_Why? Why . . . ?_

_Because you're the friend, the brother, I never had. Because I love you._

A tear slid down his cheek as he finally admitted it.

Hogan's head leaned against the fence post as another tear slipped down his cheek.

From a distance, Captain Witton saw Hogan and shook his head. _Dear God, what was going on? What?_

Captain Edward Martin walked over to Witton as his eyes stayed on Hogan.

"John," Martin greeted with a nod.

"Hello, Ed."

"Uh, John, tell me if it's none of my business, but what's going on with the Colonel?" Martin asked.

Witton shook his head. "I don't know."

"Ever since Klink left," Martin murmured. A look at Witton. "John, tell me the truth if you can."

Witton glanced at him.

"There's a lot more to Klink than any of us thought, isn't there?"

Witton met his eyes. A soft, "What do you think?"

Martin nodded, understanding a little. "I hope it ends soon."

"It's going to end, one way or another, in a couple of days," Witton said grimly. "One way or another."

* * *

1 "War Takes a Holiday"


	4. Chapter 4

Act Three

Scene Two

– Four –

He was dying. He would die. He knew that. He had known it since yesterday when the pain began. When he lost his chance, his only chance, for besting Reiner.

After escaping a couple of Reiner's traps, Klink had decided to conserve his energy and let Reiner find him. He'd located another trap, a hidden wire near a large depression. He would use it, use it to trap Reiner. It was difficult working in the dark, but he had done it. Shortly before dawn, it was ready. Now, all he had to do was wait.

It hadn't been a long wait. Reiner appeared, wearing safari clothes — the conceit of the man — and carrying a deadly rifle. Klink was well hidden, and he had covered his tracks. He knew Reiner couldn't find him, unless he wanted to be found. Just a few more minutes, and . . .

The pain drove him into the ground, his mouth crushed against the hard soil, trying desperately to keep from crying out. Hochstetter's tortures were nothing compared to this agony. He was going to scream, he couldn't bear it. He was going to . . .

His teeth bit into his arm, through his sleeve, drawing blood. He was going to . . .

The scream welled up in his throat . . .

The pain obliterated all coherent thought. Reiner, the war, his safety, nothing mattered any more. There was only that pain. Pain . . .

His mouth opened, the sound growled in his throat, he was going to . . .

The pain eased.

The release drove him into the ground again, tears streaming down his face. The scream became a strangled sob as he bit into the soil. He was still in agony, but now he remembered Reiner. Remembered the horrible danger. And the fear of what Reiner could do to him if he were caught.

He could take the pain. He had to.

And he had. But he had lost his only chance of capturing Reiner.

Long, slow minutes filled with agony passed. Reiner had left, and Klink continued to lie there, trembling with fear and pain.

Finally, that initial agony subsided, leaving behind a dull throbbing ache over his entire body. This kind of pain, he was used to. In time, it would increase, but for now, he could function.

And he knew that he would die. Reiner could continue his hunt; Klink was through cooperating. He had but one thought. And that was to find a way off the estate. Barring that, to find a hole to curl up in where Reiner couldn't reach him, and die. It was his only chance of beating Reiner's hunt. His only chance.

He rested for a while longer, and then he began creeping cautiously away.

The day grew colder. His fatigue grew. His pain grew. Both were wearing him down, affecting his vision, his judgment.

The minutes, the hours, passed. He was crawling through the brush on the cold-as-ice ground. The leafless woods swam before his eyes, peopled with faces and voices.

"_Mama?"_

"_Willi? Mein Gott, what a mess you are! Is this any way for a little soldier to behave?"_

_..._

"_You will be a soldier, Wilhelm! It is your duty. Your duty!"_

"_But, Vater . . . "_

"_Your duty! We Klinks have always done our duty. To God, to the Fatherland!"_

"_Mama, why doesn't Vater understand? I do not want to be a soldier. I do not like it. I want . . . "_

"_Nein, Wilhelm. You will obey your father. You will do your duty. You must do your duty. "_

And his dreams died. And a part of his soul.

_It was a glorious day to be in the air, to be flying. Not a cloud in the brilliant blue sky. He felt free, freer than he'd ever felt before. _

_Until the reality intruded. _

"_Klink, what do I do now?" asked von Richter's panicky voice._

"_Ease up on the stick. Slowly!" Silently, Klink cursed his luck in having von Richter as his partner during this training flight. Von Richter had a reputation among the other air cadets for panicking. One he'd managed to hide from the instructors. Or rather one that was covered up by the instructors. After all, von Richter was a baron. What did it matter if there had been a few problems with his training? It was the title that mattered. And the influence that title bought._

"_Richter, you fool! Ease up! We're too low. We're too . . . "_

_He had been lucky; he had only minor injuries. Von Richter would have a permanent limp. But he had been blamed for the accident, thanks to von Richter. He'd tried to protest. But no one listened to him. He was a nobody; von Richter was the baron. _

_It had hurt his standing in the class. He had been near the top, but after the accident, he was placed near the bottom. And it had hurt his career for years. Von Richter had gone on to acquire a reputation — he became the famous Blue Baron(_1)_. A reputation made over the dead bodies of other pilots who'd had the misfortune of flying with him._

_..._

_He was standing in formation, standing along with thousands of others, tens of thousands of others throughout Germany, and he was mouthing words, words that almost choked him. Words pledging loyalty not to the Germany he loved, but words pledging loyalty to a man, a man he loathed — Adolf Hitler. He said the words, as did the others. But in his soul, he made another vow. He would do whatever it took to bring about the downfall of that man, and those who followed him. Whatever it took._

Faces swam before his tearing eyes. His parents, his brothers, Therese, little Wilhelm, Dieter. They blurred and danced and swirled, their loving words echoing in his mind.

Harsher words, harder faces. Burkhalter, Hochstetter, Reiner, and others. Too many. They beat down his spirit, his soul. The hate, the madness — he cringed away, he curled up into a ball. He was so tired of it. So very tired of it all. He longed for, ached for, an end.

"_You and . . . "_

Another face, another voice, intruded. A cave. A hand holding his.

"_We're in this together, Kommandant. All the way to the end. You and me . . . "_

The end. A ragged, sobbing breath.

A face, yes, it was a face. Somewhere behind the pain, he recognized it. Someone he knew. Someone who had made him a promise.

Robert.

_I'm sorry, Robert. _

The face blurred, danced away. Replaced by . . .

Smaller, softer. Someone he knew. Someone he should know. Someone . . .

"_Wilhelm."_

A voice. He tried to retrieve the face, the memory, the promise it held.

A hand on his face, fingers tracing his eyes, his lips . . .

A cry.

His?

The softness faded, and became harsh.

"_You will scream and scream and scream . . . "_

The pain welled up, driving away all thought, all memories.

He staggered to his feet.

The pain . . .

He tore at his clothes. He was burning . . .

He fell into an ice-cold stream. He was dying . . .

"_NO!!"_ A voice from the woods, a voice in a cave. _"Kommandant!" _A hand in his. His fingers dug into the muddy stream bed, grasping the hand. _"This isn't the end, Wilhelm,"_ the voice said harshly. _"This isn't . . . "_

"_I am sorry it will not be to the end . . . "_

The end . . .

"_Wilhelm?"_ A whisper on the wind, a pale figure in the woods.

The pain eased.

"_Wilhelm."_

He pushed himself to his knees, to a rock. He stood, swayed, staggered toward the voice.

Leaving the gun behind.

...

He had blundered into a trap. A simple animal trap. But it was enough. It had closed around his ankle, cutting through the boot, into his flesh. It didn't hurt. Nothing could penetrate that sea of pain he was drowning in. Nothing this simple, this crude. But it had stopped him. He had fallen to the ground, unaware for countless moments of what had happened.

Finally, he stirred. He stared at his ankle, at the trap. The trap swam before his tearing eyes, weaving, dancing. He struggled to sit up; he didn't know why. His hand touched the cold alien steel around his foot. He should feel something; he didn't. He should . . .

His eyes lifted.

And for a moment, for an instant, his vision crystallized into astonishing clarity. Into a man.

Reiner. A few meters away. A smile on his face as he started to lift the rifle.

Hate, fear, survival, the voices screaming at Klink, pleading with him, shattered the pain for an instant, for less than an instant.

It was enough. The being that was the Stage took possession of his arm, his hand. A flick of his wrist.

The knife embedded itself into Reiner's chest.

In his short unlamented life, Reiner had never known true surprise. Until this moment. It was the last emotion of his life.

The Stage looked down at the trap encircling Klink's ankle. A moment later, the trap lay open. A moment later, the pain returned.

He couldn't walk. His fingers dug into the ground, breaking a nail, two, leaving faint streaks of blood. He wasn't sure why he was crawling, wasn't sure why he didn't just close his eyes and die.

The voice. The voices. Two of them. Insistent, badgering. They forced him to continue.

Klink crawled, tearing open an earlier wound.

He crawled to rid himself of those voices. They pounded with each heartbeat, coursed through every vein, filled every nerve, every cell, every breath. They moved limbs that had grown numb, pulled him along using bleeding fingers. They drove him over the frozen ground, over the rocks that dug into his unfeeling flesh. They lifted him, goaded him, between the throbbing bits of agony. Pushed him whether he willed it or no.

And Reiner lay before him.

That unreal clarity seized him again. He was frozen between those moments of agonizing pain; he stopped breathing, the voices stilled.

His bleeding fingers found a bottle, small, capped. The cap fell off. A needle. He rammed the needle into his arm. The bottle fell from his lifeless fingers.

The voices screamed their triumph.

He didn't hear them.

The pain blossomed into a blinding light that ended in darkness. Wilhelm Klink fell forward.

Onto the knife embedded in Reiner's chest.

* * *

1 "Will the Blue Baron Strike Again?"


	5. Chapter 5

Act Three

Scene Two

– Five –

It was nearly midnight.

Hauptmann Fritz Gruber sat at the Kommandant's desk, his eyes on the clock. The deadline was nearly up. A letter, no, two letters were on the desk before him. One letter was addressed to him, the other to General Burkhalter.

Gruber was frightened. He didn't want to open either letter. He didn't want to run this camp. Especially since he knew Hogan and his men were leaving. He didn't dare call it an escape. He knew it wasn't. Somehow, he knew that Hogan could have gotten away a long time ago but had chosen not to. And somehow, he knew, it was all tied up with the Kommandant.

He wet his lips nervously. _Please, Kommandant_, he found himself praying. _Come back. Please, come back._

_..._

Sergeant Hans Schultz was just inside the camp at the gate. He glanced at his watch. Nearly midnight. In a few minutes, he would walk outside the camp to a car waiting around the bend. The packet of precious letters that had been entrusted to him lay hidden under the folds of his coat.

He had said his goodbyes to Hogan and his men. He had little hope that they would ever meet again. And he was filled with sadness at their abrupt farewell. But their path was a different one from his. As for Wilhelm Klink . . .

Tears were in his eyes. He prayed that Klink was on his way to Switzerland where Schultz could join him. But the grim reality was that Wilhelm Klink was, in all probability, dead.

A tear slipped down his cheek; Schultz brushed it away. He couldn't afford tears now. His friend and commander had given him a mission to carry out. And Schultz would. Later he would grieve for his friend.

...

Sergeant Richard Baker, Sergeant Andrew Carter, Sergeant James Kinchloe, Corporal Louis LeBeau and Corporal Peter Newkirk sat soberly at the table in the common room of the barracks, waiting for the seemingly inevitable moment to come.

They had made their farewells to those whom they considered friends in the camp. But it was not as easy to leave as they had always thought it would be. A rather ironic joke. They had spent so many months, years, here, years that they had hated with a passion. And now that they were finally leaving, it was with decidedly mixed feelings.

Perhaps the real problem was the reason for their departure. They weren't leaving because the Allies had arrived and they could go home. They were leaving because a man they had admired tremendously as a hero, a man they had finally learned to respect for himself, was in all likelihood dead or dying. And it also hurt because a man they had always respected was hurting badly himself. And there was nothing they could do to help.

Captain John Witton and Captain Edward Martin, the two ranking officers in the camp, along with the others who lived in the barracks, waited quietly for the fatal hour. As of now, none of them knew what had happened. Perhaps in time, they would. But they had served Hogan well all of these months and knew they couldn't ask. But the men who had lived in such close proximity to Hogan had seen, more so than the others, what Hogan was going through. And while they didn't understand it, it affected them deeply.

Witton glanced at the door to Hogan's office, feeling Hogan's pain and wishing he could relieve some of it.

...

Colonel Robert Hogan stared at the letter in his hand. It had "Robert" written on it in a firm hand.

He was afraid. Afraid of what it said. Afraid of what it meant when he opened it.

Klink couldn't be dead. He couldn't. Not after all these years.

But if Hogan opened the letter, he knew that's what it meant. That Wilhelm Klink, the Stage, the hero he had always admired, and the man he cared for so deeply, was gone.

_You and me. To the end._

Hogan dropped the letter, his hands lifting to his face. The words haunted him every waking minute. And the dreams haunted him every sleeping minute. Dreams that had started when Martinelli died. Dreams that increased after he betrayed Klink to the Gestapo. Dreams that invaded his nights when Hochstetter had taken Klink. And now, the dreams since Klink had left that night.

His words and his dreams mocked him. He had made a promise to a man nearly buried in a cave. A promise he couldn't keep.

Tears gathered in his eyes. _Come back, Wilhelm_, he found himself praying. _Please, come back._

_..._

Hogan, his face unnaturally pale, came out of his office, carrying a bag. His waiting men stood slowly, their eyes on him, worrying about him.

Hogan walked over to the table. "Are you ready?" he asked them soberly.

They nodded.

Hogan turned to Witton and held out his hand. "Well, Captain. The camp is now yours. I've left you a letter explaining what happened. You can share what you want with the rest of the camp."

Witton nodded, taking his hand. "Colonel, I — "

He was interrupted. "There's a car turning in the gate," Hammond said softly from the door.

Hogan spun around, hope and fear on his face.

"I think it's the staff car," Hammond continued. "It's heading for the office."

Hogan was at the door. He could see the car nearly at the office building. Behind it, he could see Schultz running toward it.

The car stopped. Hogan's heart stopped as well.

A man got out.

"Oh God!" Hogan was out the door, heedless of the searchlights panning the compound. Somehow, none of them caught him.

As the others watched, he sprinted to the office and reached it just as Schultz puffed up to it. Together, they went inside.

Gruber heard the car drive up. He heard the outer door open, then the inner one to the Kommandant's living quarters.

Slowly, Gruber stood and walked to the door. He opened it. Hogan and Schultz came in from the outside. The three men looked at each other, sharing the moment. Then Hogan opened the inner door and they walked inside.

Wilhelm Klink lay on the floor in the middle of the room.

Hogan and Schultz ran over to him. Hogan turned Klink over, his heart pounding loudly, feeling for a pulse.

"He's alive," Hogan said in a choked voice.

"I will take him," Schultz said firmly, picking up his Kommandant like a baby.

Followed by Hogan and Gruber, Schultz carried the Kommandant to his bedroom. Schultz laid the unconscious man on the bed. Then, as Gruber watched from the door, Hogan and Schultz began removing the Kommandant's filthy clothes.

Gruber watched impassively as the two men undressed the Kommandant. He noted old scars on Klink's body: the one on his right thigh from the cave-in; the one in his right side from the knife, it bled slightly; odd, on his left shoulder, what appeared to be an old bullet wound; on the back of his left shoulder, what appeared to be knife wounds and maybe, he wasn't sure, some fainter older scars.

But there were new wounds as well. Something had stabbed Klink's right forearm; it bled as the sweater was removed. There were jagged tears around his left ankle; some odd looking wounds on his left arm — teeth marks? And all over Klink's body, there were cuts and bruises. And the Kommandant looked exhausted beneath the dirt on his unshaven face.

Schultz went into the bathroom for towels and water while Hogan found the medical kit in Klink's closet.

Schultz came back.

"Please, Colonel Hogan," Schultz said firmly. "I will do this. You will only be in the way."

Hogan meekly did as he was told, walking to the foot of the bed.

As Hogan and Gruber watched, Schultz expertly cleaned and bandaged the wounds on Klink's body. As he was finishing, Klink's eyes slowly opened.

"Colonel Hogan," Schultz said softly.

Hogan went to stand beside him.

The bloodshot eyes barely focused on them. A wan smile. Then Klink's eyes closed again and his breathing grew more settled.

Schultz was pleased. "He will sleep now. I will stay with him."

Hogan nodded, knowing better than to argue. Another glance at Klink and he left the room, trailed by Gruber.

Gruber broke the silence. "I will walk you back to your barracks, Colonel. If you do not mind."

Hogan shook his head. "No, I don't mind."

The two men left the Kommandant's quarters.

"I do not understand what is going on, Colonel," Gruber finally said. "And, to be frank, I am not certain that I want to. But — "

"He'll tell you, Captain," Hogan said. "If he thinks you should know. If he thinks you're ready to know."

Gruber nodded.

They stopped before the barracks' door.

"Until later then, Colonel."

"Good night, Captain. Sleep well."

A thin smile. "I think tonight I will sleep well. Good night, Colonel."

Hogan opened the barracks' door. Anxious eyes greeted him.

"He's back," Hogan said tonelessly to the assembled men. "He's sleeping now."

"How does he look, Colonel?" Carter asked hesitantly.

"He's had some wear and tear," Hogan said. "Schultz is keeping an eye on him." A glance at his men. "You might as well unpack. We're not going anywhere yet."

Sighs of relief.

"Best news we've heard in days," Baker said.

Hogan smiled faintly. "Yeah. You guys get some shut-eye. I'll inform London of our change in plans."

"Right, sir," from the others. "Good night, sir."

Witton and Martin followed him into the tunnel. They would use the tunnels to return to their own barracks. Sensing that Hogan didn't want to talk, they said their good nights in the radio room.

Hogan's message to London was short and sweet. He didn't bother waiting for a reply, signing off immediately.

There was a long silence in the dark tunnels.

Air. He needed air; he needed to be out of here.

Hogan found himself at the tunnel exit. A cautious look outside and then he was up the ladder.

He ran. He didn't know how far or even where. He ran until he collapsed.

Then he broke down.

It was nearly dawn when he returned to the barracks.

Up the ladder.

Unseen eyes watched him as he entered his room.

Silence from his room.

And the barracks was quiet.


	6. Chapter 6

Act Three

Scene Two

–Six –

Hogan slept most of the day, Gruber excusing him from the roll calls. The first normal night's sleep he'd had since Klink left. And the first dreamless sleep he'd had as well.

In the afternoon, Schultz sent them a message. Klink wanted to see all of them after dinner. So at seven, they walked into the Kommandant's quarters.

Klink, looking tired and wearing a robe, was lying on the couch, waiting for them. He greeted them with a faint smile.

Hogan. Their eyes met and clung, Hogan's filled with emotion. He walked over to Klink. For a moment, their hands clasped. Then, with a smile, Hogan sat across from Klink.

Gruber, after a formal salute, sat stiffly in a chair just behind the couch. The other men, after greeting Klink with somewhat embarrassed smiles, sat scattered around the room. Schultz hovered protectively near his Kommandant.

Drinks had been passed around. Now, they waited.

In a low firm voice, Klink began to talk, "I had no trouble on the drive down. About an hour from the estate, I stopped and slept for a few hours. By dawn, I arrived at a gatehouse on a back road to the estate.

"At the gatehouse, a small, grim looking man waited. He never said a word during the entire time; I am not even certain he can talk. He indicated a chair at a table and served me the biggest breakfast I have seen in some time. I found myself thinking about that old saying about a condemned man eating a hearty meal." A thin smile. "That's exactly how I felt at that point."

There were nervous smiles from the others.

"After the meal, I was led to a bathroom with a steaming bath in it, stripped naked and searched, far too thoroughly for my comfort. After the bath, I was led to a room with an arsenal worthy of an arms dealer. I was allowed three weapons. I chose a rather deadly gun and a couple of knives. One was very small; I strapped it around my right wrist.

"Then the hunt began."

The men grew tenser as his soft voice continued, "I really didn't know what to expect or do. I am not a hunter; I have been on a hunt only once in my life and I didn't like it. I knew I had to get to Reiner if I were to stay alive. But other than that . . . " His head shook. "Reiner, on the other hand, had too many options. He knew I had to go to him. He could wait in one place. Or come after me. Or set traps.

"I was given a map of the estate. It covered several hundred acres, most of it heavily wooded and hilly. Near the south end was the castle. I decided to make for it. I knew Reiner was probably expecting that, but I had little choice. There was always the chance that I could get to the castle without Reiner finding me. So I took it."

"Why the castle, sir?" Newkirk asked.

"I was guessing that I would find the antidote there. If I could get the antidote, finding Reiner would be irrelevant. Once I had taken the antidote, I would have the upper hand. Reiner would be forced to come to me, not the other way around. And he wouldn't have been confronting a sick, dying man. The odds would definitely have been in my favor. So, I concentrated on getting to the castle as quickly as possible. But Reiner, as I'd expected, had set traps around the estate and I had to watch for them constantly. It made for very slow progress and I was fighting a deadline all the way.

"I received this," he indicated his right forearm, "after getting away from a couple of other traps. I'm still not certain what triggered it but before I realized what happened, a thin blade had impaled my arm."

The listening men shuddered.

A humorless smile. "It sounds worse than it actually was. Fortunately, it didn't strike the bone or an artery. And while it was painful, it didn't damage the muscle. The worst part was pulling the blade out. Luckily it was a straight blade and wasn't jagged or an arrow. Once I was free, I used my handkerchief to bind the wound and continued on my way.

"The day dragged on and I knew I was running out of time. Once night fell, it would become much more difficult. I knew I couldn't blunder around in the dark; I had enough trouble with the traps during the day. And I had started to notice signs of Reiner's presence.

"I began to think there might be a way to trap him. And I did find a way, using one of his traps. I spent the night, planning and getting ready. By morning, it was ready. I waited for him and shortly after dawn, he showed up. He was almost within reach when the pain hit.

"Reiner had been right. The pain was . . . incredible. It came without any warning. And it was everywhere — my head, my limbs, my insides; I had never felt such pain in my life."

The Allied men shuddered. That pain was worse than Hochstetter's tortures? Another shudder. They still remembered his screams.

"I crumpled up," Klink said, "and just lay there, trying to keep from screaming. If I had, Reiner was close enough to hear me. And it would have been over. Finally, the pain eased. But by then, Reiner had disappeared.

"The pain settled into an enveloping ache all over my body. But I had lost my only advantage. I knew I only had about twelve hours so I decided to stop trying for the castle. I decided to stop trying for Reiner as well."

"But, Kommandant," Carter objected, "he had the antidote."

"Yes, he did. But he had too many options to choose from. I had only one. To go after him. I didn't like the odds. Dying was a more pleasant alternative than being found by him.

"I surprised him; he didn't expect that. He thought that once the pain started, I would be desperate enough to get out in the open and find him. That was his biggest mistake. Believe me, I didn't want to die. But I accepted the possibility of death a long time ago; I think I've even stopped being afraid of it. I don't know. But there are far worse things to be afraid of. And at that moment, the worst was having Reiner find me.

"So I tried to find a way to stay out of Reiner's hands. I really didn't think I could make it off the estate. But I was hoping to find an isolated corner of it, possibly a sheltered cave, a place that I could booby trap before the time I lapsed into a coma. I believed Reiner about the coma; I didn't believe him when he said it was irreversible. And the only way I wanted him to find me was dead.

"Reiner suddenly found himself in the position of having to hunt me after all." A grim smile. "I'm afraid that Reiner wasn't quite the hunter he thought he was. It is one thing to locate a desperate, dying man who is looking for you. It is quite another to start tracking a man who is determined to stay away from you.

"But he did have one big advantage. The pain. It was wearing me down. That and my fatigue. And I had a long way to go. As time went on, I could barely see straight or think clearly. I was even hallucinating. Because of that, Reiner nearly won.

"I had blundered into a trap. Not a very original one. It was just a simple animal trap but it was enough. It fastened around my left ankle, cutting through the boot into the flesh. He found me, trying to get out of it.

"By then, my vision was blurred, I was drenched with sweat and the pain clouded everything. I wasn't even certain that I was seeing him. Then I saw him smile and raise the rifle." Sweat beaded his forehead as he remembered. "That smile scared me more than the rifle. By then, I had lost the gun and the survival knife. I'm not sure how, but I remembered the knife I had strapped to my wrist. And I threw it. It was nothing more than a desperate move.

"I don't know who was more surprised that it succeeded," Klink said quietly. "But the next thing I remember was the astonishment on Reiner's face as the knife buried itself in his chest. Even as he fell, I don't think he believed it.

"Somehow, I managed to get the trap open. Somehow, I am not sure how, I crawled over to Reiner and turned him over. By then the pain was unbearable. I couldn't see, couldn't think. The next thing I remember clearly was finding that small bottle in his pocket. There was a needle on the end of the bottle. I jammed it into my right arm. Then I collapsed."

There was silence for a while, each man thinking about the life and death struggle Klink had come through, wondering if he had the courage or the strength to survive such a struggle.

"I came to a few hours later," Klink's soft voice began again. "The first thing I remember was the cold. The temperature had dropped; it felt like snow. If I had been unconscious a few more hours, I might have died from hypothermia. There was still a trace of the pain. But it was nothing compared to what it had been before. After my head cleared enough to think properly, I decided to make for the castle."

"Why, sir?" Kinch wanted to know.

"I needed to know what Reiner knew," Klink said. "Who he told about me, what kind of papers he had. The castle was the only place that would have that information.

"I searched his body again. As I suspected, he had a map with the locations of the traps. Since it was still dark, it took a couple of hours to get there. That little man was there, waiting for him.

"I don't think I'll ever forget the look on his face. Joy is the wrong word. Maybe incredulous gloating is a better one. At any rate, he was not disappointed that Reiner wasn't coming back.

"He served me what would have been Reiner's dinner and then disappeared. I could hear him ransacking the rooms. When I finished eating, he showed up again and showed me Reiner's study. Then he went back to his plundering. I went in, not really knowing what I'd find.

"I found files." His voice was quiet. "Organized, voluminous files. On people I had heard of and several I hadn't. Fortunately, he had an index to them. Once I found my name, it was easy to find where I showed up in other files. By the way, Schultz, Captain Gruber and Colonel Hogan rated their own files. I brought them back if you're interested.

"Schultz, the top folder on the table. Please give it to Colonel Hogan."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

Schultz went over to the table, picked up the file and walked over to Hogan. Hogan took the folder from Schultz. He glanced through it and looked at Klink in puzzlement.

"I marked a few of the entries. Why don't you read them aloud? Just ignore the dates. I think," he smiled, "everyone's German is good enough."

Hogan managed a faint smile as well. "Okay. 'H'," Hogan began. "Hochstetter?"

Klink nodded.

"'H was here again. Complaining about his favorite topic. Seems K — Klink? — did something once again to set him off. The more I hear about K the more interesting he seems. I think I will have to do some checking on him.'" Hogan looked at Klink. "Seems you piqued his interest."

Klink nodded. "That file of his had things in it I don't remember any more. He was more than curious. Go on."

Hogan turned back to the entries. "'K seems to be everything H thinks he is. Incompetent, naive, a vain, stupid bore . . . '" Hogan was smiling as he read off the description. "'And more.'" He lost the smile with the next entry. "'Or is he?'" Hogan glanced at Klink. "That's quite a jump."

Klink nodded. "Go on."

"'S . . . ' S?" Hogan looked at Klink.

"It will make sense later on. Keep reading."

"'S is back once again. The descriptions of him almost defy counting. H has apoplexy every time he talks of S. I do not understand H's obsession with S. S has rarely crossed his path. But H is very ambitious and capturing S would get him as far as he wishes. He also resents having to deal with fools like K. My interest in S is more personal . . . '"

Hogan glanced at Klink's controlled expression before continuing, "'K seems to have found a streak of courage which no one suspected. An escaping prisoner had beaten K and K defied him. H, of course, treats it as an aberration. I think he would do well to keep an eye on K . . .

"'K was trapped in a cave-in and seemed to show remarkable fortitude during the ordeal. This makes two incidents of courage from K in a short time. It is decidedly out of character . . .

"'H is furious. K has defied him once more. This time, H has vowed vengeance on K. Poor H he hates too hard. As for K, I am convinced that he is not the fool H thinks he is. If I were to hide, what better disguise would there be than out in the open and with a reputation such as his. But there is nothing linking K to any treasonous activities. Much as H would love to find any, even he has to admit there is no evidence . . .

"'S continues to strike around the country. For years, he has defied us. His ingenuity has become legendary. And his courage. He continues to take incredible risks. His organization appears to have grown to what may be an unmanageable size. This may be the mistake that defeats him. He may not break before dying, but his followers are not as strong as he. Ultimately, they will betray him . . .

"'H called. He mentions no names. But it appears that his fondest dream may finally come true. I warned him to be cautious. His eagerness may yet be his undoing . . .

"'K appears to have gone on a mission for H that no one seems to know anything about . . .

"'H called, gloating. He has his prize. H thinks it will not be long before he breaks'." A slight tremor in Hogan's voice. "'H underestimates him again. He will not break that easily. I cautioned H to be patient. If he is not, H will make a mistake that will kill, not break, his prisoner. H swears he will be patient. I doubt if he will . . .

"'Berlin has not heard from H in days. Nor have I . . .

"'H is confirmed dead; his supposedly secret base a burning ruin.

"'K has returned to camp. I am most interested to hear how he explains his absence . . .

"'K and those with him have been interrogated. Their story is confirmed. K has been vindicated. I wonder why he returned . . .

"'Poor Hochstetter. I hope he died happy knowing . . . '" Hogan broke off, glancing at Klink.

"Go on," Klink said evenly.

"'I hope he died happy knowing that the incompetent Wilhelm Klink is the all too competent Stage.'"

Gruber's head lifted in astonishment; he stared at his Kommandant.

"That's quite a jump for him to make," Hogan complained.

Klink shook his head. "You're reading just a few key entries. The others are far more detailed. With the amount of research Reiner did, he was able to link certain episodes. Based on what he had, it was not that far a leap. By the way, at that point, the Stage and the Klink files become one. But keep going."

Hogan continued, "'S is back. Rumors are that his organization is much smaller than before, and more efficient. I think the time is approaching for us to meet . . .

"'K has broken character again. A fire in which he took charge. I saw Burkhalter. He thinks that K has usurped the glory due others. That is one explanation. I think that K found himself in a situation where he thought he had no choice. His concern for others is laudably stupid. I do not think he will be able to survive one more incident like this. It is time to carry out my own plans for his future . . .

"'Today, I delivered my present to K. He will come; he has no choice. He will be my last victim; it is getting too dangerous to stay in Germany. My escape plans are set. The date I leave will depend on K.

"As K, he was everything I expected him to be. As S, he was more. His tolerance for pain,'" Hogan swallowed nervously, "'is the highest I have encountered. He should be able to retain his sanity longer than anyone else. But he has undergone more ill usage in the past few months than in the past few years. That and his age may reduce his tolerance slightly. Otherwise, I judge him to be in superb condition. It is fitting that I end with him. I may not find him until he lapses into the coma. But that will be no problem. It will make him easier to handle. I will give him a few days to regain his strength. Then . . .

"'I wonder how long it will take him to die.'"


	7. Conclusion

Act Three

Scene Two

– Seven –

Hogan's voice faded as he read the last sentence. His ashen face lifted to Klink. "He," Hogan's voice shook, "he wasn't planning to kill you during the hunt."

Klink shook his head. "No, he wasn't." His voice held a rare grimness. He gulped his drink; Schultz filled the glass again. "There was a hidden panel in the study. It led to a room . . . " His voice was almost inaudible. "It was filled with books. Books such as . . .

"You don't live in an army for thirty years without encountering pornography, some of it rather disgusting pornography. But those books were filled with every obscene torture a sick mind is capable of devising.

"And there were pictures . . . " His voice shook now. "I regretted the meal then. I had thought I'd seen horror before, but I was violently ill when I saw those pictures of his victims. Mainly men, a few women. Still alive despite horrific physical and sexual mutilation."

The listening men, their staring eyes wide, looked ill themselves.

Klink shook his head, trying to rid it of the memory. When he spoke again, his voice was a bare whisper. "There was a staircase leading down to another level from that room. It led to a dungeon filled with every conceivable device for inflicting physical and sexual pain on a human being. It reeked of blood, vomit, excrement and death. I doubt if hell could be any worse than that room."

He drained his glass again, scarcely noticing as Schultz filled it.

"I knew I had to destroy that hellhole before I left. Luckily, he had his own personal arsenal in the castle. But I had to go down into that hell again to set the explosives. Everywhere I stepped, there was evidence of the tortures he'd inflicted. I was sick again before I got out of there.

"I set more charges in his library and then all over the first floor. By the time I finished, the little man had finished gathering what valuables he was taking. I put the files I wanted in Reiner's car and used his car to get back to mine. The charges exploded just about the time I reached my car.

"After I put the files in my car and destroyed his, I did something I haven't done in a very long time." His voice was very soft. "I panicked. Completely, totally. I drove without really knowing where I was going. All I knew was that I had to get away from there, as far away as I could. I kept driving until I reached the Bodensee(1).

"The sun had come up by the time I reached the lake. The first clear memory I have was that of the sun sparkling on the lake with the mountains in the distance.

"The panic gradually faded, replaced by fear and, finally, an overwhelming sense of relief. I stared at that lake for a very long time and cried like a baby."

There was silence for a long time as the ashen men fought their own horror.

Finally, Hogan broke the silence, his voice harsh, "Why on earth didn't you keep going?"

Klink stirred. "I nearly did. I could have made it across the border; I've done it before." A tiny smile. "If I had to, I think I could have swum across the lake." A pause, and then a sigh. "I'm not really sure why I didn't cross the border. I once said I wanted to finish what I started. Part of that is true.

"Maybe it was the way I would have left. Panic is such a useless emotion, without any thought behind it. I have always thought of myself as a rational man. Most of what I have done with my life has been carefully considered. Crossing the border because of that panic would have negated a good part of the way I've lived the past eleven years."

"You had more than good reason," Hogan said quietly.

"Maybe." A faint smile. "Then there was a promise I made." His eyes met Hogan's. "It may be stupid of me but I always keep my promises. Especially those made to friends."

"I'm beginning to regret that promise," Hogan said softly.

"No," Klink countered in the same tone. "No matter what happens, don't ever regret it. I would not trade it for all of the safety of the past few years.

"At any rate, here I am." A smile. "And it is nice to be home again."

"You're still taking a hell of a risk," Hogan said angrily. "He could have told — "

Klink shook his head. "All Reiner cared about were his sadistic games. He told no one; his journals confirm that. Whatever else he was, he was extraordinarily meticulous. Almost every word and thought is recorded on his subjects.

"I will admit that until I found that room, I was afraid that the hunt was just a ruse to get me there."

"And hand you over to the Gestapo," Hogan finished.

Klink nodded. "It is rather ironic that his sadism will serve to protect me in the end."

"Sir," Baker asked, "if you thought that, why did you go down there?"

A thin smile. "Because I was still dying. Though I don't fear death, I am not anxious to experience it either. Going there was still the only hope I had."

"But he almost got you, sir," LeBeau said with a shudder.

"He just thought he had me," Klink said softly. "If that rifle bullet had not killed me instantly, by the time he reached me I would already have been dead."

Startled looks from the others.

"He is not the only one who knows poisons. I was not going to risk capture by the Gestapo again. Not that way. I had secreted a poison capsule in a hollow tooth. Though I was a bit surprised at the body search, the little man wasn't thorough enough. Fortunately. Otherwise, I would have stopped him and left immediately. Which would also have meant that I'd now be very dead." A humorless smile. "If I were not already dying, I doubt if I would have considered suicide. But I didn't trust Reiner; he enjoyed his work with the knife too much. A quick death would have been out of character. His eyes told me that he liked torture. And I was not about to become his or the Gestapo's victim.

"But if I had known about that room . . . " His voice faded. Then a whisper, "God forgive me, but I do not have the courage to risk that kind of death again. I would have killed him here in cold blood if I had known what he really planned to do, regardless of the consequences." A short pause. "At any rate, somehow, I pulled it off. Though when I collapsed, I wasn't at all sure I was going to wake up."

There was a long silence in the room.

With a wince, Klink swung his feet off the couch and stood. His muscles still felt all too stiff. He walked over to the table. He was not surprised to see the unopened letters lying there.

"Kommandant?" Gruber's voice was hesitant.

Klink turned to him. "Yes, Hauptmann?"

"Are you . . . That is, Reiner said you were. But . . . Are you the Stage?" Gruber asked with a nervous gulp.

Klink looked soberly at him. "Yes, Hauptmann, I am."

Gruber swallowed the tightness in his throat as Klink looked at him. He managed to meet Klink's eyes bravely.

Klink smiled faintly. "Congratulations, Hauptmann. You are one of the few people in the world I have ever said that to. Not even Hochstetter or Reiner. Or even," his smile grew slightly, "Colonel Hogan."

Gruber didn't know what to say.

"Now what, Herr Kommandant?" Schultz asked.

"We wait," Klink said. "The Allies are not that far away. We wait for the end."

Hogan looked at Klink and seemed about to ask a question. But he thought better of it. Klink would talk to him later if he needed to.

"And that is all of it, gentlemen," Klink said soberly.

"I still think you're crazy for coming back here," Hogan said.

Klink smiled, not insulted. "You need someone to keep you in line."

"Keep me in line?" Hogan managed to sound outraged. "What about you?"

Another smile. "Schultz has managed that very well all these years. Right, Schultz?"

"That is correct, Herr Kommandant." A very normal Schultz voice. "And now it is time for you to go back to bed. Good night, gentlemen."

The men rose to their feet, the tension in the room receding thanks to the banter.

Hogan's men left first, their good nights sounding in the room.

Hogan walked over to Klink and asked softly, "Do you want to talk?"

Klink shook his head slowly, his eyes meeting Hogan's. "Thank you, Robert, but no. The panic has long gone. The horror," a shudder, "that may take a little time. But for now, I can deal with it."

"If you find you can't — "

A thin smile. "I know where to find you. Thank you."

Hogan nodded. "All right, Wilhelm." Neither Gruber nor Schultz was surprised when Hogan embraced Klink. "Welcome back anyway."

"Thank you, Robert." Klink's hands stayed on Hogan's forearms for a moment.

Hogan stepped away and walked over to the door. A glance back at Klink. "I still think you're crazy." A parting smile and he left.

Now only Gruber remained, still standing beside his chair.

Klink's eyes went to him.

Gruber took a step toward Klink.

Klink waited.

After a long while . . .

"Why?" There was anguish in Gruber's voice. "Why the charade, the sabotage, the treason?"

"Because I love Germany," Klink said softly.

"But you help her enemies! You fight against her — "

"Nein!" Klink shot back. "I do not fight Germany. I fight only those," an obscene word, "Nazis! I want my country back, Gruber. Free from the terror that haunts it."

"I still do not understand," Gruber whispered.

"Do you want to?" Klink asked quietly. "Do you want the truth about those madmen that run our country?"

_No!_ His mind screamed at him. _I don't. I . . ._

Gruber fought through his panic and looked at Klink. Since the fire, he had many questions about the man he'd thought he'd known. Gruber had always thought that Klink was, in many respects, a fool, though he was wise enough to keep such thoughts to himself. After all, whether he liked it or not, Klink was the Kommandant. He had also always thought that Klink, despite his blustering, was far too soft with the prisoners. Though Gruber had to grudgingly admit that Klink appeared to be successful in keeping them here.

After the fire, Gruber's doubts about Klink had forced him into that fateful confrontation. That confrontation where he suddenly found himself facing a man he didn't know. A man who had also trusted him to keep his word.

Then Reiner showed up. The knife, the poison, the man who had said goodbye to him in this very room — Gruber had been badly shaken by it all. And he realized he wanted Klink back in this camp, back so that there was some semblance of normality left in his suddenly insane world.

Then Klink's story. He shuddered as he remembered it. His world grew even more insane when those papers said Klink was the infamous Stage.

The Stage. For years, there had been rumors about him. Stories of his exploits were whispered throughout Germany. A man of mythic courage and intelligence.

And here he stood, within reach of Gruber's arm. Gruber could kill him and be a hero to the Fatherland. Or he could have the Gestapo arrest Klink. After all, the Stage was a traitor. And traitors deserved death.

By torture?

Gruber shuddered again, his eyes meeting Klink's. He couldn't turn Klink over to the Gestapo. He knew that; he had always known that.

But why? What would make an intelligent, resourceful man deliberately turn into a fool, a man who had inspired nothing but contempt and ridicule for years? Why?

"Yes," he said slowly. "I want the truth."

Klink smiled, but there was no humor in his eyes. "Then have a seat, Hauptmann Gruber. And I will tell you."

They talked far into the night about many things — about the truth behind the rituals and slogans. About the evil behind the rumors and the intimidation. About the camps, the torture, the deaths of millions.

Fritz Gruber refused to believe. He couldn't. It was too incredible, too impossible, too horrible.

But slowly, as Gruber looked the man before him, and listened to the man he was beginning to respect, Gruber also came to believe.

The Fritz Gruber who left Kommandant Klink's quarters in the dead of that cold night was not the same man who had entered those quarters a few hours before. He left a sadder, much wiser man. A man who would do whatever he had to do to end the evil infecting his country. And a man who would do whatever he had to do to protect the man who had talked to him for so long. Fritz Gruber didn't consider himself a brave man. The truth was he'd always been afraid that he was a coward. But now, he was a man who had sworn loyalty to the Stage, to Wilhelm Klink. A vow he knew he would honor with his life.

...

Wilhelm Klink watched Fritz Gruber cross the nearly deserted compound.

"I should have told you earlier, Hans," Klink said quietly.

"I . . . " Schultz choked hoarsely.

Klink turned to a pasty-faced Schultz. Schultz had stayed silent, sitting in a chair, nearly forgotten, as Klink talked to Gruber. From the corner of his eye, Klink could see Schultz getting paler, and older, with each word. Gruber had looked ill as Klink spoke, but Schultz . . .

Several times, Klink had thought Schultz might become physically ill. But he hadn't. Instead, he physically shrunk into himself, something that would have seemed to be impossible for a man as large as Schultz.

"I knew things were bad," Schultz whispered. "Everyone knew things were bad, even if they didn't want to admit it. But what you said . . .

"How?" There was anguish in Schultz's voice. "How could we become so evil?"

"How?" A humorless smile. "If I knew that . . . " Klink sighed. "Perhaps because beneath our veneer of civilization, we are evil."

Schultz shook his head. "Nein . . . I cannot believe . . . "

"Even after the truth, Hans?"

Schultz stayed silent.

Klink turned away from him and looked out the window again. "I don't want to believe it either, Hans. I know there is good in the world and beauty and even love. But . . . " His head shook.

"Maybe because it is simply too easy for man to be evil. Most people aren't evil. But far too many are. And if the evil ones happen to be popular, or rich, or powerful, the rest of us are too easily swayed by them. Or we are too weak or too frightened to resist. Or think we are.

"People like Hitler or Stalin know how to control the rest of us. They play on our fears, our emotions. We stop thinking, stop feeling for anyone other than ourselves. Especially if we have real injustices of our own to contend with. Here, it was the Jews who were responsible for our defeats, our pain. Then the Communists, the intellectuals, the priests, the ministers, later, the Poles, the Slavs, the Russians, the gypsies, the ill, anyone who was different. So millions were imprisoned, millions were killed.

"In the Soviet Union, it was the nobles, the capitalists, the landowners, then the peasants, the Ukrainians, the religious, anyone who opposed the state. Stalin isn't any different from Hitler; he is also responsible for the murder of millions. But he had the good sense not to invade other countries. At least, so far.

"But we're not the only ones, Hans. Though after the war, we will be told we were. France will have to face its sins one day. Far too many Frenchmen embraced the power, the hatred, that the Nazis preached. As did other countries. Including the United States. Even here, we have heard prisoners ridicule other prisoners who were the wrong skin color, the wrong religion or from the wrong ethnic or social background. Every country, every race, has to look at itself and see the evil that it is capable of. And admit to the evil that it has done.

"I've never been a very religious man, Hans. But I now find myself realizing just how badly we need religion. Not what often passes for religion among most people. But religion in its highest sense. The one that demands we look at ourselves and know, and admit, the evil that we are all capable of. The one that demands accountability for our actions, no matter how small or insignificant they seem to be. The one that demands that we go beyond our petty fears and problems, and demands a higher standard from each of us. The one that says, no, man is not the ultimate arbitrator, the ultimate judge, the ultimate authority. That there is a higher law, a perfect law, a perfect being. One that demands that same perfection from us as well. Or rather," a twisted smile, "that demands we at least try to be perfect.

"For the past few centuries, we've pretended that we don't need God or religion. That we are better than God or religion. That the only laws that matter are those that we decide are right. That there is no objective morality. No absolute right or wrong." A twisted smile. "Well, we've now seen what happens when we decide that we're God. I hope that we, that the world, realizes that now. But I very much doubt it."

There was a long, heavy silence.

Finally, Schultz asked, "Does Colonel Hogan know?"

Klink shook his head.

"You must tell him," Schultz said.

"I know." A sad smile. "The truth is, I'm afraid to."

"He will find out," Schultz said quietly. "Sooner or later."

Klink turned back to the window.

Sooner or later. And when he does, then what? Can their friendship survive that horror? Or are there some horrors, some sins, that can't be forgiven?

Well, he'll find out soon enough.

As will all Germans.

* * *

1 On the German-Swiss border.


End file.
